<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>This Side of Nowhere by plumfulkiss</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23330101">This Side of Nowhere</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumfulkiss/pseuds/plumfulkiss'>plumfulkiss</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Timelines, Banshee Lydia Martin, Everything up to s5 is canon, Forgotten Stiles Stilinski, Gen, M/M, Memory Alteration, POV Derek, Peter Hale isn't an ass, The Ghost Riders didn't exactly go as it does in the show, True Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Whatever Stiles is I'm not sure it's a good one, ghost - Freeform, more tags soon I promise, you'll see - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:02:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,785</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23330101</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumfulkiss/pseuds/plumfulkiss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale, a werewolf, has always been a bit of a recluse. Even before the fire that wiped out most of his family, and even before his older sister Laura was brutally murdered in a string of events that led him to where he is now, he prefered to be alone. It was easier to be alone.<br/>Nowadays he spends a lot of time in his head. He’s done all the mentoring he could. He taught Scott McCall, a new werewolf that would come into his own someday, all he knew and the boy seemed to take care of everything from there. Aside from a stray phone call, a stray send for help, Derek keeps alone, trying to pull memories of his broken family back together. Peter’s no help, not that Derek wanted his help anyways. His sister Cora is somewhere; they’ve lost touch.<br/>Derek feels void.<br/>But then something changes.<br/>Something--rather, someone, started leaving notes on his fridge. ‘Hi.’<br/>His world starts changing, and a part of him feels crazy, but… something feels right about it too. There are memories he doesn’t remember having with a person he doesn’t remember existing, he’s going crazy, he’s going dark, he’s breaking friendships and losing it, but...<br/>He doesn’t feel alone anymore.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale &amp; Lydia Martin, Derek Hale &amp; Peter Hale, Derek Hale &amp; Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura (mentioned), eventual Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Tuesday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Derek woke up. There wasn’t anything special about it, his eyes just snapped open and the sun just kept shining and the dogs above him in the apartment just kept barking. Maybe it was this monotony that kept him from making any changes; on the other hand, maybe it was this monotony that made him want to change so damn bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was alone when he woke up, rising from his cheap bed that sat on books in his cheap room. He had money--he knew he had money, too--but for years he had become dedicated only to the bare minimum. Somehow he knew, had this funny little idea, that he should be doing better than this, but he pushed it aside. It would be a problem for another day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a Tuesday, and Tuesdays were when he, 28 with dark hair and pretty eyes and a scruffy face he didn’t keep clean shaven, seemed to get the most done. Most of what, exactly? It depended on the Tuesday. Some Tuesdays he was fighting monsters, saving the sleepy Beacon Hills from destruction alongside the resident pack as an ally. Some Tuesdays he cleaned and called that a good enough day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today’s Tuesday was for digging.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In Derek’s chest he knew he’d never be able to find anything; the house had been demolished years ago, a victim of housing development that never came to fruition, the burnt wood and memories tossed into a truck and sent away forever. The grave of his sister had been disturbed; he was thankful they never found her, not ready to deal with the police after such a long time. The graves of several had been disturbed, the more that he thought about it, and even though it had been a relief to find Cora alive… there were still so many others that were dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conspiracy was what hurt to think about. He was glad Kate Argent was dead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite all the pressing reasons to never find anything at the remains of his childhood home, Derek did like to spend time there. It was the most connected to his family he had in years: Cora was somewhere that wasn’t here, she didn’t write and she didn’t call and Peter, oh, well Peter was an entirely different story. Although he had proved himself as an ally and a redemptive person, Derek didn’t feel completely comfortable with him. He had killed Laura for no reason other than to claim an alpha status he had never deserved. Further, of course, Derek had killed him, but… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was five years ago. The last five years had this hazy glow about them now, as if they’d been deglamorized and tampered with. He didn’t like to think about them anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Derek took the twenty minute drive down streets and his old driveway to the clearing where his house had once happily stood. It was blank then, an unfinished construction zone with no quirk, no life. When he got there he sat in the center of it, breathing, enjoying being together alone with his family. If he focused closely he could hear their voices. Sometimes they were proud of him, of what he had become, of where he was. Other times they were disappointed in him for his lack of action, losing the weight that came with being a Hale day by day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most days they were silent as the tomb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he remembered, he would bring flowers for them. He recalled the garden his mother maintained; she liked flowers with color, with vibrancy, with acceptance, and when he would remember to bring flowers it was always bright and colorful like she would have wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There wasn’t any color there anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he found nothing, like he usually did, he would go home. At least, that was the plan before Scott called him for help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Scott said, with an exasperated yet sympathetic tone. “I’m sorry to bother but can you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you?” Derek interjected, deadpan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um…” Scott trailed off, his connection waning. He seemed to talk to someone else, perhaps another member of the pack, before saying quietly, “We’re actually downtown? I think there’s something here, I- I heard this </span>
  <em>
    <span>voice </span>
  </em>
  <span>and so I’m thinking something’s gonna go down.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A voice. A voice was what quantified a call nowadays. A whisper in a dark room that might not have even happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Scott was lying, and knew Derek was lonely, and was just trying to call him to get him to leave. There was no voice, there wasn’t much anything, and Derek was getting conned. The con was harmless, of course, but Derek couldn’t appreciate a lie from anyone. Lies got Peter where he is now; It was something he’d grown to resent despite the hypocrisy of it all. He lied easily and all the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then again maybe Scott wasn’t lying, there was some voice and another metaphysical force had come to start a ruckus once again. They’d been escalating in threat level; Scott merely wanted to stop it before it got out of hand. That was fair enough, and Scott was the alpha in this situation. Not his alpha, but an alpha, and that’s better than Derek could say for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he went.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scott was by his car when Derek pulled up, arms crossed lightly, staring at the ground and tapping his foot. It had been a while since they’d seen each other; Scott, no longer the sixteen-year-old lost beta Derek had first known, had grown up. Scruffed up, hair a little scraggly, he looked like a proper adult. It made Derek’s head hurt to remember the little kid he used to be. The features were blurry, not as clear as they should be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia was there, too, firey hair knotted up tightly in a bun, red-lipsticked smile absent as she stood next to him. She looked up before Scott did when Derek parked and exited his car, a raised-brows expression of concern wiped over his face. She seemed to perk up then, at least a little, waving. She hadn’t changed much, not that Derek could remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” She said tightly, the expression feeling mismatched against her body. “You know what’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek nodded, crossing over, tapping Scott on the arm as a greeting before ending up in front of them both. “I know the basics,” He said, watching as Scott looked up for the first time. His eyes were red, already, and he glanced back down again, rubbing his temples quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scott spoke. “I don’t really know what it was. I was passing through, trying to run errands and then this… this…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Voice,” Lydia interjected, arms crossing into a proper Morticia stance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Voice,” Scott agreed, “This voice. Nobody was nearby, really, the whole street’s kind of empty. It-... they… said to remember me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek narrowed his brows. Scott continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds like a warning, right? Like, like a threat? Now my eyes aren’t turning back, I think there’s something really going o-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek shook his head. “I think you’re nervous, Scott.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scott squeezed his hand in a fist as if he were holding an imaginary stress ball.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t hear anything,” Lydia said thoughtfully, “And if we’re being honest… I haven’t heard much in a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See, that’s the thing! It’s all about the balance, isn’t it? I think things are gonna end up getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad </span>
  </em>
  <span>again and this is just the st-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then when they do start getting bad again, we can say we’re prepared for it. You heard something and got freaked out. You’re fine, Scott.” Derek said, almost exasperated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scott looked at him quietly. Slowly piercing red became a warm brown once again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced over his shoulder at the street: a few stray stores… a car lot with junkers… a pizza place. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary, he supposed, but something about it made Scott shiver and tense once again. Derek held his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Things are going to be just fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scott nodded lowly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Worries alleviated, Scott was the first to go, said he had a Skype call with Kira, the first in a couple months, and didn’t want to miss it. He clambered into his car and waved lightly one last time before leaving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alone, Derek and Lydia shared a pregnant stare at each other. Derek cleared his throat. “Do you think that’s going to turn into a problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia shrugged, making a face. “Who knows at this point. I definitely haven’t heard anything,” She paused, then her brow furrowed, “Well. Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What.” It was more an order than a question. Derek had a way of doing that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The redhead soured, tapping her cheek, “Cool it. It’s nothing, really, I just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool it! I just heard my name when I was alone once. It’s nothing. Like when you hear your parents call your name but they didn’t say it at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek, stoic as ever, stared at her with narrow gaze, making no sign, no emotion. He waited a long, long minute before giving in. “Alright. Alright,” He said, letting it go, moving on, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I thought,” Lydia confirmed, unafraid to give him the same stoic and almost-rude treatment he was oh-so-good at. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had to go soon, too, but provided no reason. Derek didn’t need one; he wasn’t usually given one anyways. Alone, he waited a moment, taking the time to breathe and look around like Scott had before vowing to return to the apartment. It had already been a long day, at least for him. Speaking, being a part of a group, social contact, was tiring. Fighting was still easier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drove home, stopping for food on the way, figuring he owed it to himself to avoid a night of cooking. Even so, he wasn’t hungry when he got it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He arrived back home, back at the dingy and dismal apartment that was this side of nowhere, once again thinking he should at least use the money to make it look at least a little more homey than his previous living spaces(including but not limited to: burnt down house, empty loft). He decided against it. He always decided against it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he came in he crossed to the fridge, going to open it, put the fast food inside for if he’d end up hungry later… but something was different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An ornate little sticky note, the kind high schoolers use, faded yellow and curving upwards, was clipped to the otherwise barren fridge. It said, in messy scrawl, just a word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hi.’</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Strong-Willed Motive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Derek learns something new about the visitor leaving notes on his fridge.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“So what do you think it is?” Derek asked quietly, raising his hand as if he was in high school again. There were four of them now; himself, Lydia, Scott, and Liam sat gathered around Deaton, waiting for any answer. Derek glanced around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia and Scott looked the same as always, if a little tired. They were attentive and aware. Liam was another story.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Liam and Derek weren’t necessarily acquainted aside from the formalities. They’d spent time in the same room together before, he knew of Scott’s qualms with him, and that was about it. When Derek left Liam seemed to blossom, and now, a senior in high school, he seemed to have the adaptive skill Scott had down pat. Of course, that was the most base level awareness he could have. Liam was unimportant, just another set of ears in the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deaton was preaching to the choir, flipping through books and considering options. He cleared his throat before he spoke every single time, even if it wasn’t needed. “Could be a plain ghost,” He mused, tapping his chin and glancing through. He flipped a page lightly. “In that case, an exorcist would probably be more help than I would.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lydia chuckled, and Derek glanced at her. Today, her red hair was down, waves loosely framing her face as she watched Deaton move. Something in her eyes seemed to look past him, further, deeper, but when she blinked it went away. Derek stared ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could be another nogitsune, just one without a host,” Derek said with a shrug that didn’t seem to compliment the gravity of it. Scott spoke up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not…. We’d have to act quick on that, wouldn’t we?” He said, but his face seemed confused, as if the entire nogitsune ordeal wasn’t crystal clear in his own head. Derek understood. The more he thought about it, the more he lost certain details. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Come to think of it, who even </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>the nogitsune?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deaton nodded, somehow remaining solemn but still hopeful. “If that’s the case, then absolutely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Liam spoke for the first time. “But what if that isn’t the case?” He seemed nervous, the way people became when they had something to hide, but there was nothing there, no alternative motive for him. He was just confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it isn’t then we’d better find out what it is and where it is,” Deaton said, shutting the dusty old books that lay around him in a heap. “I trust you’ll all contact each other if any new discoveries happen? Derek?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek perked up for the first time in the conversation. He had been completely attentive, of course, but having nothing to offer his chin rested lightly on the back of the chair until now. When Deaton asked if he had seen something, had an experience with whatever this was, Derek hesitated… and then shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” He said lowly, but the yellow post-it on his fridge lingered at the back of his mind, pressing against it, ever present.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Derek went home that day, he found himself staring at the same note the majority the night. It was so unassuming, like it should have been there despite being the only notice in a sea of shiny fridge. He kept staring at it as if there was some deeper message.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hi.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The messily scrawled handwriting was in pen ink, pen ink from the same pen he found clicked forward into open on his counter that morning. He couldn’t come up with a clue as to where the note itself came from, but it was done here, it was meant for here. It was meant for him. Whatever this was was speaking to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He touched it lightly, and he was somewhere else entirely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was in a junker car with uncomfortable seats and a loud engine. The car itself--a blue jeep that looked older than Derek and sounded like it too--was high off the ground, and when Derek shifted it creaked. Something popped, and there was the voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey! Watch it, will you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek glanced in the direction of the voice, finding it to be the driver. None of the driver’s features seemed recognizable; in fact, when Derek tried to focus on them, it got blurry, seemingly smeared in his memory as if it wasn’t meant to be there. Words fell out of Derek’s mouth, but he didn’t feel in control.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” He growled, shoving away when the driver’s hand moved a little too closely into his personal space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice groaned loudly, “You’re going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>break </span>
  </em>
  <span>it! You popped a seam and now all the padding or whatever is gonna start </span>
  <em>
    <span>falling </span>
  </em>
  <span>out, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you </span>
  <em>
    <span>shut </span>
  </em>
  <span>up?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a silence, a bitter silence. In a sort of hindsight, Derek realized the driver was thinking up something witty to say, but at the time, he was baring his fangs, threatening to nip at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally the blurry figure spoke; for a moment Derek recognized a sparkle in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now you listen here you mangy little mutt, I don’t care about driving you and parading you around to help with </span>
  <em>
    <span>whatever </span>
  </em>
  <span>is going on that you’ve decided not to tell me, but you’re gonna be nice to my fuckin’ car. You’re going out of your way </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be nice to her!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek rolled his eyes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Her?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The figure broke the boundary of personal space to tap Derek’s cheek twice, snarkily yet sympathetically. “Her,” he said, “And unless you want to pay for it you’re gonna be nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> What was strikingly strange to Derek was when the figure touched his cheek. Though he expected something human, something that felt like contact, when the connection was made all he felt was ice, cold and freezing. It was as if they weren’t supposed to touch, or that he wasn’t supposed to remember that they did. It stung against his warm face--he was blushing, but he didn’t quite understand why--and the beat up junker blue jeep jolted forward. He saw nothing more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Who was this? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Derek returned to the land of the living, expecting to feel enlightened. It was the opposite. When he woke back up in front of the fridge with the yellow sticky note he backed away from it, snaking a hand into his hair. His heart was pounding, but why was he scared? What was there to be scared for? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or he wasn’t scared. Maybe this was excitement. He reached, touched the note again, and he was back in the Jeep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing new came; He wasn’t surprised, just a little disheartened. His cheek would be touched, the junker would jolt forward, and he would start over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something was happening.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had a magnet on the side of the fridge, something old he had found sometime and at someplace; it would have to do with the lack of post-its in the house. He found a paper towel of all things and ripped a piece of it, grabbing the pen and marking in neat handwriting, ‘Hello.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He began to consider it as ‘all he could do’ to learn about what this thing was, but that wasn’t true. He could call Deaton, say something was happening, get rid of this thing before it became a problem. He could call Scott who would scope it out, or Lydia who might hear something, but this wasn’t all he could do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was what he wanted to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The third time he relived a moment he couldn’t remember existing, he touched his cheek after it was over. It was still cold, almost dead, like Laura’s cheek had been. The connection made his stomach knot and twist and he reconsidered what he was doing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reconsidered what he was doing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reconsidered what he was doing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite it all, curiosity was a strong-willed motive. Derek stuck his own note just under the original, hand on his cheek, glancing around. A shiver ran down his spine and he glanced around as if someone was there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His toes curled and he finally turned away from the fridge and looked forward at the dim apartment. He never usually turned the lights on; it added to the money, like bills, no point in wasting electricity. It was something he’d gotten used to doing living in Hale house after it was gone. He flicked a switch, and like an idea the lightbulbs clicked into place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly aware that something else had been here, he felt almost embarrassed for them to have seen the sight he lived in. It wasn’t the size that bothered him, it was the uncleanliness that he had allowed the place to live and exist in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt like he had a purpose now, someone to be purposeful for. Partly he felt crazy; maybe this was a ghost, nothing more, but… he didn’t see the harm in it. So what if he was a little crazy? Even if he was, he did just clean his apartment for the first time in months, and that isn’t a bad thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made the choice and was willing to stick to it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He cleaned through the night and into the early morning, glancing on occasion to the fridge, worrying lightly that he’d overstepped and should call someone before things get out of hand. Things didn’t feel out of hand, at least not now. If something happened now he could handle it, and he was going to handle it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fell asleep just before sunrise in a clean home, not just a place he crashed at.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The new note, this time another scrap of paper towel from Derek’s own roll, blew lightly against the fridge as if by the ceiling fan; it was stuck there by the same magnet, not looking out of place. The connection was spreading, festering, growing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you know who I was?’</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Let's talk about this chapter! Tumblr @plumfulkiss</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Shrouded in Sound</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Derek doesn't know if he can handle such a temperamental monster on his own.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>uwu i am looking for a beta reader my contact info is down below if you're interested</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Derek stuck the plastic magnets one by one on the smooth metal. He shuffled them together; colorful letters mixed into masses as he slid them up into the ocean of fridge. A sticky note fell down, the beginnings of conversation, and he picked it up and placed it back into spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A lot had happened. A lot had been said.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Do you know who I was?’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know who you are.’</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I’m nobody now.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you mean?’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Derek placed the now empty bucket aside, glancing up at the messages and letters and broken words. Getting up, he touched the first note for a brief moment, flashing backwards into the same ratty old Jeep and the same missing person sitting next to him arguing. He came back from it and stared forward. This was getting a little out of hand, for one thing. The masses of notes took over near half of the front, taped and magnetted and held their practically by will alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An idea appeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek dug out an old tupperware container, meant for food that he didn’t normally bother eating. It was clear plastic with a red lid; it might not have ever been used. He opened it and carefully began migrating the conversation into the box. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A chill ran down his spine: as if the room itself had frosted over in the brief period he spent filing paper towel scraps and sticky notes away into a box of memory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned, and something had changed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Your window is open.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How do you know that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I am here.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right now?’</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Sometimes.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of the papers had fallen onto the floor. Derek knelt and picked it up, glancing at it lightly. It was one of the other being’s notes, and a later one. As time went on Derek noticed the handwriting grew messier and more faded, as if whoever this was had been forgetting their own handwriting. It was one of many reasons he had decided to find these magnets, to make it easier for whatever this was. He also saw the potential in witnessing it in person, seeing the letters move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hoped he could see it once, at least. He grabbed another handful of papers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Why are you here?’</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Trying something.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Trying what?’</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You wouldn’t remember if I said.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I would. It’s on my fridge.’</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You didn’t remember last time.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you mean?’</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I mean what I said.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t understand.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once they were all locked away in the safety of the tupperware, dull red lid clasped tightly, Derek looked for where to put it. He wanted it to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe; </span>
  </em>
  <span>He didn’t necessarily know why, what made him afraid for the box’s safety, what made him feel a need to store it somewhere secret at all. Really, the idea seemed to come out of nowhere but it was instinctual. It was better for wolves to follow their instinct more often than not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The box went in the gap between the cabinet and the wall. Snugly it sat in the dark, shielded from light and any prying eyes. His keys had fallen down there once, and he thought he’d never find them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I can’t just make you understand. It doesn’t work like that.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What doesn’t?’</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You saw something, right?’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How did you make me see something?’</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I remembered. You should too.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You have to look deeper, Derek.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How do you know my name?’</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Why does it matter to you?’</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a scratched sound and a magnet had shifted. Derek turned quickly, seeing the first batches of ice cold motion right before his eyes. He could picture fingertips grasping a plastic letter, aged hands holding something that was more tangible than whatever held it. When the dark-haired figure looked, though, any idea of a being was long gone, leaving only the messy figures called letters forming combinations called words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had said hi again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek leaned against the island counter, arms crossing habitually. “Hello,” He said out loud, allowing it to hang in the air for any wandering ears to register. “Can you tell me your name now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt stupid again, hot coils of shame stinging the back of his neck and twisting his stomach into knots as he stared forward. There was no movement. The air felt dense. “Are you still here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of nowhere the air seemed to freeze around him; crisp air that he could see his own breath in shrouded him and he glanced around, to his sides, behind him. The seconds away from staring at the colorful letters were all it needed, and the letters had shifted.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘I -m here.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t found the ‘a’ in time, preferring to leave it blank. A contraction: I’m here. Not uptight but not improper either; I’m here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you? What’s your name?” Derek asked, and once again nothing happened. He tapped against his arm attentively, then irritatedly. “You said you were here now hurry up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something changed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was an ice crisp freezing feeling, the same as before, but he didn’t look away. The temperature dropped cooler and cooler and for another second Derek thought he could see a silhouette of something scrawny and unassuming… but then his own vision became incredibly hazy, as if clouded over by an icy mist.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You can’t see me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>something said, a voice that stung at the back of his neck and sent horrors down his spine. It seemed to echo inhumanly, shroud him in sound and then become silence, emptiness, altogether nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek was fuming, but for what he didn’t know. The freezing tranquility became a fiery anger and he shouted out, grabbing letters and shoving them heavily and watching them clatter onto the ground. ”What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” He shouted, scratching at his face, toes curling as he avoided doing something he wouldn’t want to do. Like shift, for example. His eyes were glowing vibrantly and the coils in his stomach twisted and his claws were t-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room turned to ice once more. Something clattered aside and it wasn’t Derek who did it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing!” He yelled, twisting and turning to try to see what this </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing </span>
  </em>
  <span>was trying to accomplish. “Who are you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A glass cup shattered into pieces on the floor. Derek yelled and turned, trying to claw at a monster that wasn’t there. His chest felt cold and his eyes were unfeeling, corrupted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to leave; to </span>
  <em>
    <span>get out </span>
  </em>
  <span>of here, to be somewhere else where this thing wouldn’t get to him, where he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>cool down </span>
  </em>
  <span>(no pun intended), and he scrambled towards the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Listen to me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>something said somewhere, an order, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Derek, listen to me, god damn it, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and when Derek grabbed the doorknob he recoiled, burnt cold. Frostbite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groaned and growled and shook his hand, turning back and all but roaring at a thing that didn’t exist. “Get out of here! You don’t exist!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tempest twisted and calmed. The temperature in the room stabilized. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frustrated, blue eyes glowing in the darkness of night, Derek tore the door open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So much for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He left the apartment and the monster that was on this side of nowhere. He wasn’t strong enough to deal with it anymore.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>let's talk about this chapter!<br/>tumblr @plumfulkiss</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. No Wants to Share</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Derek flees to the last place he wanted to go, but finds a sort of enlightenment from an unlikely place.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>longer chapter to make up for a shorter chapter 3. do you like where this is going? should i go faster? slower? i'd love feedback uwu</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was probably three in the morning when Derek appeared on his uncle’s doorstep. The drive was a nightmare; any cold breeze made Derek tense and there were claw marks bore into his own steering wheel. That’d be a pain to clean up. No matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scott always called him paranoid for keeping a bag in his trunk in case he needed to run, run away and run quickly, but things seemed to work out well right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door into the apartment was unlocked when he twisted the knob; all lights were off, but Derek’s eyes shone  a bright blue as he let himself in and took care to shut and lock the door behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Peter asked and it made Derek jump because he remembered that same voice from years and years ago getting onto him for sneaking out of the house when he was fourteen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His shoulders tensed and then he slowly turned, eyes fading in the darkness. Peter flicked the switch next to him and a light turned on over his head, illuminated like a halo, he crossed his arms and stared at his nephew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek rolled his eyes and sighed. “Can’t get past you, can I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not likely,” Peter said with a shrug. “Now tell me what you’re doing before this gets physical. If you don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vulnerable, Derek slung his bag over his shoulder. “There’s a demon-thing in my house, so, here I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You came here instead of going to one of your little pack?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The pack kind of doesn’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek dropped his stuff and walked into the apartment once he was officially invited, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and glancing around. It was always </span>
  <em>
    <span>clean, </span>
  </em>
  <span>as if he didn’t even live there, but he knew there were secrets everywhere. The curtains were open, unsafe, and the unlocked door still twisted in the back of his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you asking for robbers?” Derek asked, looking back at Peter, annoyed. “Your door was unlocked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard you coming.” Peter admitted, tilting his head and sitting down on his couch. Even seeing him do such a simple, trivial thing was a little annoying. Like watching your worst enemy sip tea threateningly across from a long table, except this wasn’t Derek’s enemy. This was just a murderer. That’s easy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek sat down across from him, checking his phone as if he had messages to read. He didn’t. Unsurprising. He kept looking at it, keeping his hearing trained on Peter and what could have been lurking just outside the door. Had the spirit followed him here? Were others experiencing such rough luck with whatever it was? Derek felt a need to ask but also a need to keep it secret, like he owed it to the spirit to remain qu-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So. Are you going to tell me about this demon-thing, or am I going to pick your head for details myself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don't,” Derek said with a growl, clutching his phone tightly and looking at Peter. “I hate it when you’re in my head.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter shrugged. “Then you might as well tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The darker-haired boy sighed, fiddling with his phone lightly. He had no wants to share with Peter; even now, years after he had redeemed himself for the pack and proven himself as an ally, he hated to be honest with him… to be vulnerable with him. However, if Peter considered it payment for allowing Derek in, then that was just how it was going to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so Derek spun the tale of all that had happen thus far: the strange messages left on sticky notes that weren’t his, notes about things only someone metaphysical could know, the vision that might have been a memory if it wasn’t so hazy, so unclear, and the way that his temperature seemed to drop when things were going wrong and finally the ‘fight’ that had gotten him kicked out of his own apartment and across town in Peter’s. All the while Peter listened, tapping his chin and nodding and being alert. He didn’t look like he had a plan, just that he was listening and giving advice and offering what he could. It was a different look for him in Derek’s mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He trusted him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter finally found the words to speak and cleared his throat. “You don’t know what it is, do you?” He asked, and when Derek shook his head he continued. “Because it sounds like a Forgotten, and there’s nothing you can do about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek furrowed his brow. “A Forgotten? As in-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As in the Wild Hunt, yeah. I was Forgotten for a while. Sometimes things like that get left behind, miss their train... so to speak. Skipped over, the last picked in kickball, whatever the hell you want to call it. The point being when we got that taken care of there must have been a couple loose ends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter was so casual about this whole thing, but Derek couldn’t call him on that. It was fair; he’d been Forgotten, he got to talk about it however he pleased. It was up to Derek to figure out what to take from it, what wasn’t infected by the older Hale’s bias. “So who is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>it, you mean. If they’ve been lost this long I’m not sure there’s anything left worth saving,” Peter said, raising a brow as he glanced out a window, having heard something. He turned back. “And I don’t know. They’re Forgotten. You know. Can’t be remembered?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek rolled his eyes. “You don’t remember people you were with when you were Forgotten?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely not. They weren’t important to me, and up until now I thought they were all back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apparently the pack missed one,” Derek said, sighing. “So what do I do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell somebody?” Peter said, tossing up his hands dismissively. He didn’t understand why Derek felt a need to keep this under wraps. To be fair, Derek didn’t understand either. There was a pause in conversation before finally, Peter gave in and said, “Or, try to remember them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how to do that, and you don’t either,” Derek replied stubbornly, tossing a throw pillow and chuckling when it knocked Peter in the face. Peter threw it back but missed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You might as well leave if you don’t want my advice,” Peter murmured before standing, brushing a hand through his hair and beginning to pace. He wasn’t nervous, just restless, probably wishing he was asleep right now. Derek fell silent, thinking about his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, he’d forgotten someone; everyone had forgotten someone. It still didn’t explain why this spirit had chosen to close in on him, nor why it was angry or why he was able to have visions about whoever this person was. Were they close? The area of thought felt locked away in his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” He said, but hadn’t realized he said it out loud. Now aware, he had to give in to his thoughts. “Why me, why now, why is any of this happening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter’s movements slowed to a halt, and he leaned against the back of his own couch. His eyes narrowed in thought, and then tossed his hands up quietly, thoughtfully, as he pushed off of the back. “They don’t want to be alone anymore,” he said, and it struck a chord. Poignant. His shoulders eased and he rubbed at his eyes dismissively. “Stay as long as you want, but don’t get comfortable. I’m going to sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek waved, but Peter had already disappeared down the hall into the door that led to what he had to assume was his uncle’s room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alone, he stared at the well-lit ceiling until he could find sleep. It took a while, the same way it took a while for him to sleep five years ago, the same way he got stuck in his head and left to think, to scan his memories for things that got blurrier and blurrier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like trying to remember his mother; he knew there were memories there but whatever they were they were blurry, blurry, and continuing to blur day by day. It was over a decade ago; no family photos remained, no clear thoughts especially now that Laura was gone and Cora had disconnected. There was nothing left for him to remember about someone that didn’t exist, at least not anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And what did Peter know? Who said he had to be right? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek did. Derek said he had to be right because as of right now, this was the only lead he had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slept.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was in the jeep again, and the figure was in the driver’s seat, hauling tail down sleepy Beacon Hills streets. Derek seemed to impulsively grab the handle, although his actions were not conscious or his own anymore. It was another memory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Slow down,” He ordered and he was definitely an Alpha again, he could feel it just behind his fingertips and he was staring at the figure with blurry features that seemed even more smudged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t slow down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, instead they were going faster and faster and they seemed to hang loosely out of their seat, the Jeep windows opened. They stuck their head out and called out a happy cry, their own human howl, all laughter and cheers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek reached over and grabbed their arm, pulling them back in. “</span>
  <b>Slow down</b>
  <span>,” He repeated, and his eyes were flashing red and he could feel it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The human snorted but didn’t tear away from the contact, instead taking it in stride as, impulsively, they took a turn and the tires screeched and Derek all but growled. “Would you quit it? What are we even </span>
  <em>
    <span>doing?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He asked, and the human laughed. It bubbled out of him, contagious, and Derek rolled his eyes but the corners of his mouth shifted upwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re having fun, Der. Ever heard of it? Or are you too busy doing that weird thing with your face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek’s hand dropped from the figure’s arm, falling into an awkward place by his lap. He stayed silent, eyes narrow, watching every twitch and shift of a face that now, posthumously, he couldn’t see. They looked at him again before jittering to a stop; the Jeep’s brakes were loud and squeaky, a testament to the age. “There! Stop that! You’re so weird, dude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop what?” Derek asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The figure laughed and touched Derek’s cheek again. A new, familiar ice embraced the werewolf and there was a slight pinkening of his cheeks. Embarrassed. “You’re looking at me like you’re gonna </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill </span>
  </em>
  <span>me, dude. Ease up! We’re having fun and ignoring the shit that’s going on for five minutes until Scotty-boy calls and says, ‘uh, guys, I need some help, there’s an ogre in the woods, uh,’” They said, and they just kept laughing and they snorted and it was awkward but they were enjoying it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek forced a chuckle, and slumped his shoulders. He did ease up, at least for a moment. But then a blaring inaccuracy bit at his senses. “Ogres aren’t real, Stiles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles. The name rolled off of past Derek’s tongue easily, but now, viewing a memory that seemed to fade in and out of reality, it seemed fake and hard to believe. Stiles. Was that even a name? Did it have some secret meaning lurking just underneath the surface? Thinking too hard made the memory jitter and begin to fade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek felt two more taps to his cheek before the hand disconnected, returning to its proper place on the wheel. The Jeep rustled to life once again and began moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lame,” The figure, Stiles, said. “That’s the most disappointing thing you could have ever said. Ogres are totally real. You’re just stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite harsh words, it felt content.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A week had passed. For seven nights Derek had dreamt the same dream, memorized the memory and absorbed every second as if it had anything else to offer aside from what it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whoever Stiles was, he was right. Ogres were real; Scott and Derek had found one three years ago. He hoped Stiles knew that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the eighth day after dreaming this memory, Derek finally mustered up the strength to leave. He couldn’t help it; Peter was family, despite everything, and it was easy on the nerves for Derek to be with someone other than himself all the time. But now, motivated, he had a reason to go back to his apartment and figure it out. He had a name, a connection, something he couldn’t shake after a week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His apartment was cold when he walked into it. It was a lonely cold, not the same icy connection he felt when he was last here but an isolated chill. He dropped his bag, having brought it in to repack it and wash its contents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek Hale cleared his throat, shutting his eyes and trying to see someone he couldn’t remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you still here?”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>let's talk about this chapter! tumblr @plumfulkiss</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>